Alpha and Omega
by lokilette
Summary: When Death opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Life...and he hates her. But he needs her, because what is Death without Life? As they grow together, he becomes painfully aware that Death is only good for one thing: destroying. One-shot.
1. Life and Death

**Author's Note:** Written for round 6 of QLFC. Pick a genre and write a fanfiction with that genre. My genre was fantasy. I sort of fell in love with Death while writing "A Touch of Death," so I've decided to introduce his counterpart and partner-in-crime Life, which was about as fantasy as I figured I could get for a fanfic about a fantasy book. A note about my headcanon. Life and Death, as entities, are bound to Earth, but they were created by Chaos and Order, which are larger beings. Thanks a lot to Sociially-Diisoriiented for beta-ing! Best beta ever. :3

* * *

 _It was always meant to be this way. Where there is Life, there must also be Death._

 _._

There was no spark of brilliance, no _a-ha_ moment, no light in the darkness. As far as Death was concerned, he wasn't, and then he was. When he opened his eyes for the very first time, never knowing they were shut in the first place, he knew his name, and he had a mild grasp of the languages of a world that he understood existed but had never seen.

The first thing he saw was _her_ , as her golden eyes slowly opened for the first time. And he hated her. He couldn't stand the way she was swathed in warm light, looking like an opalescent pearl in the tarnished crown of the world. He loathed her skin, though he admired its darkness, because nothing could compare to the pure, pristine nature of his bones. He detested her curly poof of hair that sprouted like a bush off her head because it masked the beautiful angles and sharp, jutting bones and perfect, concave features of her skull. When she clothed herself in white, in light, in beauty, he dressed himself in black, fashioning a robe out of shadows.

Even so, he understood her necessity. Death could not exist without Life.

 **...o0o...**

The air shifted, bending to her will, and from it she extracted colors of every variety. Life gathered the colors in her palms, weaving a tapestry of sorts with them. Pink and green made a lovely backdrop, sewed together with silver threads, a dash of red, a pinch of blue, and just a little yellow. Everything carefully measured out, just the right amounts. Never once did she falter from her vision. The colors swirled and coalesced, responding to her like strings to a puppeteer. She could control the world if she wanted, but he doubted the thought ever crossed her mind.

"Another unicorn, I presume?"

Death grunted as the colors started to take shape, branching down into four legs. The world was already filled with too many of the damned pests, who lived bloody near forever and thought themselves too perfect, too pure, too innocent to interact with most other species. And they were _—_ just like the woman they were modeled after. They inherited every bit of her essence and grace, and he hated every last one of them.

"I considered that. One can never have too many pets, after all. But no. I had something else in mind. This one's for you."

"For...me?"

"This way, maybe you'll quit skulking after my lovelies. It unnerves them."

Death wanted to argue for his dignity—he most certainly did not _skulk—_ but his objections were quelled as Life stepped back from her newest masterpiece. It was more than he could have ever hoped for, the very antithesis of the unicorns that she held so dear. Sleek, black hide stretched taut over its frame, thin enough to accentuate the beautiful protrusions and contours of its skeleton. From its lethal teeth, meant for tearing flesh, to its leathery wings, every ounce of it was perfection, and he loved it so. _This_ was a creature worthy of Death.

Though it pained him to admit that she had done well, especially given the smug look that not even the hood of her robe could disguise, he had to concede this one.

"It's incredible."

"Well, of course it is. I'm good at what I do."

Despite her shortcomings, Life was the most amazing being that ever existed, he was convinced of it, and Death both loved and hated her in equal measure.

 **...o0o...**

"What's wrong with it?"

Death sunk deeper into his hood so she wouldn't see him frown. He had wondered from the start why Life had bothered with these creatures, but she refused to reveal any of her secrets. They were pathetic and weak, with nary a bit of intrigue going for them. What they lacked in wit, they made up for in impulse. Worse yet, they were horribly fragile, both in body and spirit. Humans, they were called.

Death had followed this particular one for what seemed like mere minutes, but in that time it had aged considerably. As its life had unraveled, Death had realized that he could read its thoughts like a book, neatly splayed out in the brilliant array of colors it had been fashioned from. First, there was the soft orange innocence of childhood, which had washed into a purple rage and red envy of adolescence, and, eventually, a soft green of love. Lately, all the colors had settled into dark brown pools of unrest and the pale blue that accompanied a lifetime of lessons learned the hard way.

"It's suffering, the poor thing. Nothing should be forced to suffer so."

He could end the suffering; some part of him knew this. Wherever he had come from, Death had been born with this much instinct. This was his reason for being. Tentatively, he reached out, laying a hand on the man's shoulder.

The response was immediate. Like a fractured mirror, the colors shattered into hairline cracks of black that emanated from his palm. He stepped back as the darkness took on a life of its own, writhing against the colors and devouring them bit by bit.

"I've destroyed it!"

This was not the response he had expected. Until then, he had only watched from the shadows, never interfering, unseen and unheard. He lurked on a different plane from the living. That was how things were always meant to be. He was content to be an observer, watching the beautiful stories that unfolded in flashes of fervent color. But now...he had ripped out the pages and set the book ablaze. Silently, he mourned for the colors.

"No, you freed it."

Death whirled to face her, intent on lashing out at her foolish naivety, but his anger wavered when confronted with her soft smile. Without a word, she pointed behind him. When he turned, he was met with a glorious array of colors—pinks, silver, gold. It was a delicate buffet of emotion, brighter than before now that it had shed its shell, and, for a moment, he simply drank it all in.

"A soul. They have souls."

The word rolled off his tongue naturally, even though he was just discovering it. It was like a repressed memory, tucked somewhere in the recesses of his mind that somehow his subconscious could access.

"Of course they do. You didn't think I'd put all that work in to have them simply waste away to nothing, did you?"

The motions came to him as if they were remnants from a past life. Death raised his hand, causing the sleeve of his robe to slip away and reveal his bones. With his index finger, he drew runes in the air, leaving behind a silver fire in the spaces his phalanx passed over. He dropped his hand when it was done, and the rune disappeared, leaving behind it a portal. It was invisible, except for the obvious way that reality bent and distorted when one looked directly at it.

The soul stepped forward cautiously, and Death motioned for it to pass through. Once it did, he closed the portal with a swipe of his hand, wiping away all evidence it had ever existed.

Death glanced over to where Life was still standing, beaming proudly at him. The normal emotions surged in his chest—annoyance, hatred, indignation, a sudden urge to kick a unicorn just to see her scowl. But, he supposed, if she could forgive him for ruining her creations, he might just be able to tolerate a few of her foibles, as well.

 **...o0o...**

They had found their own slice of heaven where the world couldn't touch them. Not yet, at least. On an island in the middle of an ocean somewhere, they would sometimes rendezvous, when Death had nothing better to do.

The sun was hot, when it dared peek out from behind the overbearing clouds, and he let his hood down. He liked the feeling of it bleaching his skull as he closed his eyes and stretched out on the hot sand. Life, of course, remained fully cloaked. Said it was cooler that way. The insufferable woman had no appreciation for heat.

"What would you do if you were a human?" she asked all of a sudden as she sat up, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Die, I suppose. It seems like that's what they're good for."

"Eventually, yes, but what about _before_ that?"

"What would I want to be a human for? I'd die of boredom, out of sheer spite."

"I think I'd like to have a family. Children, even."

"You already have children. Billions of them. I can barely get a moment away from them. Or have you forgotten?"

"I do, I suppose. But _we_ don't."

Death's eyes flew open, and he dug his hands into the sand to prop himself up. Obviously he'd heard wrong. He _must_ have heard wrong. Chaos, please let him have heard wrong.

"I'm sorry, run that one by me again?"

"Relax. I'm not actually suggesting we _have_ a child. It'd never survive. But what if I _make_ one? A human child who is a little bit of both of us. I can plant a seed, and we can watch it grow."

"Just to be clear, I don't actually have to do anything for this, right?"

"No, I suppose not."

Death looked into her golden eyes, shaded by her hood—so large and full of visions of the future. If it would make her happy, if it was what she wanted, it would be a small sacrifice on his part. He supposed he held enough love for her to grant this one request.

"Fine. Let's make a child."

 **...o0o...**

The child grew in the blink of an eye.

They made bets on what gender the baby would be. Death won, but only because Life let him. Herpo, he was named, but Death hated the moniker with a passion. A misnomer at best, it lacked the finesse that the child surely deserved. It lacked dignity and power, and it sounded more like a disease than anything. But there was nothing to be done but to watch.

Life doted on him, in her own way. Always unseen, as they were meant to be. Sometimes she would sing, in an ancient tongue that humans could neither hear nor fathom, at his bedside. The lullaby was for the baby, but Death listened anyway. She protected the child from harm, and he defied the odds time and again. The humans thought he was blessed, and he was, in a way.

The boy discovered magic at a young age and learned how to control it. As it burgeoned in him, he became quite the interesting plaything. He was no longer the drooling dolt that he had been in his childhood. He developed into an adult adorned by color, wearing the remnants of his ancestry. His soul was unlike other humans, decorated in swirling black-and-gold undertones that became most vibrant when he was performing magic.

And he performed beautifully, with the prowess of an accomplished artist. He was able to concoct beautiful, wondrous things, every bit his mother's son. Magical beasts were attracted to him, and he learned to tame them one by one—a phoenix, a unicorn, a dragon.

There was nothing there to disappoint even the most austere parent.

Most of all, Life was happy. Death loved her best that way.

 **...o0o...**

Little by little, Death recognized the signs. How could he not? The colors began to dull under the heavy hand of time. Herpo was getting old. Life must have noticed, too, with the way she fawned over him, made sure he wanted for nothing. She had already begun mourning.

What if she blamed him? This was his job. He had no choice but to take souls when they were ready...or did he?

Death waited until his ward entered the woods, slipping between the shadows, before he revealed himself. The human looked surprised—they always were when they saw Death for the first time—but there was something else. Something missing. There was no fear in those pale eyes, no sense of dread, no horror. Curiosity shifted his aura to a sort of maroon.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. Have you come for me?"

"Not yet. If you do as I say, there will be no need for me to seek you out. Ever."

"Do you mean..."

"Freedom from Death. Immortality."

"Why? Why me?"

"I owe you no explanations."

Was this the right thing to do, or was he making a huge mistake? Sparing someone the heartache of loss, sacrificing for love, these were noble things, weren't they? How could an act of love be wrong?

"What would you have me do?"

"Where Death is meant to occur, Death will always occur. Therefore, you will have to kill another. If you do so, you can break off a piece of your soul and place it in an object. I can't collect a soul that's not whole."

"And the consequences of that?"

"Could be vast. No one's done it before. I'm here only to present the option. The decision is yours."

Death described the technique, and then sank back into invisibility to leave the man to ponder his mortality. Whatever decision was made, he would accept it for what it was. Even if it meant heartache. Even if it meant losing her.

 **...o0o...**

He should have seen it sooner. Chaos, how could Death be so stupid? He was so caught up in the elation of having Herpo choose immortality— _their_ child, truly, in every way now—that he failed to see the warning signs. He successfully sheared off a bit of his soul, yes, but once the ritual was complete, the gold that had always laced his aura was nowhere to be seen.

"What has he done?" Life whispered as they watched. The horror in her voice shredded Death's emotions; this was all his fault.

There was nothing they could do as the darkness, now unfettered, slowly invaded the rest of his aura, gobbling up the remnants of the other colors. There was nothing left except a wispy, swirling mass that tortured his mind.

With the golden elements of Life banished from his soul, all that was left was Death, and so Herpo did the only thing Death was capable of: he destroyed.

Life regarded him with soft eyes, but Death knew the truth behind them. Even if she could forgive his foibles, he would never forgive himself for what he had done to her...what he had done to them.

 **...o0o...**

"He's become a danger."

Death knew it was true, but the words somehow sounded accusatory. Everything had gone so horribly wrong.

"He's started preying on the other creatures." There was no emotion in her voice, and he hated that the most. "He doesn't know happiness anymore, so he seeks to take it from others. He'll destroy them, if he's allowed to."

It was true. That was the Death in him. It always sought to destroy. Even without intention; even with the best of intentions. That was all it was good for. It had eaten him away, worn holes in his soul. No human was meant to harbor that sort of darkness; Death was never meant to exist without Life. It gnawed away at what was left of his soul, leaving him tattered, and broken, and unable to die.

"I'll handle it," Death said.

"Where will you take him?"

"Somewhere he'll be safe. Somewhere that can be his forever."

He pulled a chain out of the confines of his robe—a circular amulet with an hourglass encased in a free-spinning circle. With one hand on Herpo's shoulder and one on the chain, he thought of a lone island nestled in the bosom of some ocean somewhere at some point in the future.

As his destination whirred through his mind, the hourglass followed suite, spinning slowly and then ever faster until it was a blur. Time shifted in a nauseating distortion of reality, launching them into the future.

 **...o0o...**

Dementor. That's what humans would come to call him. Death knew because he had checked. The island would be discovered, eventually, in the future. Nothing could stay hidden forever.

The man would deteriorate further, losing everything that ever made him human, until he was little more than a child of Death. He would always be broken.

She would always be broken, too, even if she never said as much. There was no forgiving the things he'd done. Even if she could move on, he harbored enough regret for both of them.

After all this time, he became painfully aware of one fact that he had overlooked.

.

 _It was never meant to be this way. Where there is Death, there can never be Life._

* * *

 **Cover Art:** (c) **noiaillustration** on DeviantArt. Go check them out; they're amazing.


	2. Herpo the Foul

**Author's Note:** I wrote "Alpha and Omega" to be a standalone, but I've had the opportunity to expand on it and write from Herpo's POV, which I thought was interesting. This was written for the Magical Creatures challenge.

 **Prompts:**

dementor

(word) obscurity

(poem) "Remembrance" by Emily Bronte

(word) eternal

(word) safe

(sentence) Darkness descended upon him, and he knew everything would change.

* * *

 _ _It was always meant to be this way. Where there is Life, there must also be Death._ _

_._

She was withering, a fragile flower about to be plucked too soon from life. Herpo took her hand, more bone than anything else, and gave her a reassuring smile. He didn't want her to see that this was killing him, too. It was a Muggle malady, of all things, and he was helpless to do anything but watch as it leeched her life.

"I wouldn't be mad, you know." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and it rattled like death.

"Hush, Delphi. Save your strength."

It was obvious that it took all of her energy just to speak. She didn't seem very long for this world, but Herpo didn't want to think about that. It was true love, the sort that some required Amortentia to even pretend at, and he was lucky to have ever found it. But he couldn't live without her. Not anymore.

Delphinium waved off his concern, the stubborn witch she was.

"You should find another. Remarry."

"Never."

The thought alone was absurd. He had pledged forever and meant it now just as much as he had twenty years ago when they were first wed. She was his everything, and if death parted them, then it wouldn't be for long. They were always meant to be together.

"You deserve to be happy."

"I _am_ happy, my flower. I have you. Forever."

A ghost of a smile played across her lips as she closed her eyes. Her face was ghostly and gray, and he waited, planted in that spot, for her sunken eyes to flutter back open. They never did.

Sometime in the night, Herpo could have sworn he saw Death steal in quietly. For just a moment, in the corner of the room, the shadows seemed to take on a life of their own. He couldn't decide, though, if Death had really come all this way or if it was a mere trick of the moonlight.

 **...oOo...**

From the obscurity of the trees, Herpo saw Death approach. There was nothing to do; there was no way to avoid Death. This wasn't the first time he had seen the familiar shifting of shadows and gathering of darkness. Besides, he was no longer a young wizard, either, and he wasn't as afraid of the unknown as he had been in his youth.

"Do you know who I am?"

The voice was deep and hoarse and rattled in the same manner that Delphinium's had at the end. The sound of it made his heart ache as the memories overwhelmed him.

"Yes. Have you come for me?"

"Not yet. If you do as I say, there will be no need for me to seek you out. Ever."

"Do you mean..."

"Freedom from Death. Immortality."

No, that was impossible. Herpo was no spring chicken, and he wouldn't be done in by some charlatan on a whim to trick a fool of a wizard. Still, Death didn't exactly seem the type, and if anyone could grant an eternal life, he was the one being. Herpo had no reason at all to trust him.

"Why? Why me?"

"I owe you no explanations."

Here Death was handing him a get-out-of-dying pass. Even if he didn't act on it, even if he didn't fully believe it, Herpo figured that the least he could do was hear him out. What did he have to lose?

"What would you have me do?"

"Where death is meant to occur, death will always occur. Therefore, you will have to kill another. If you do so, you can break off a piece of your soul and place it in an object. I can't collect a soul that's not whole."

"And the consequences of that?"

"Could be vast. No one's done it before. I'm here only to present the option. The decision is yours."

In his parting words, Death proffered a spell and brief instructions, and then dissipated back into the forest before Herpo had a chance to make a decision. The risks were endless. No one had attempted let alone achieved something of this magnitude. And for what? To avoid death? It was a byproduct of life, everyone knew that. Was it worth trading his soul for the chance to live safe from Death?

 **...oOo...**

Herpo wandered, bottle in hand. Drinking was a horrible vice to have, but it made him feel invincible, and it was what he needed at that time. He took the small, dirt road away from town, leaving tracks as he dragged his feet. Half a mile away, Delphinium lay in her eternal slumber. It was like she was calling to him, even now.

The concept of eternal life was appealing, but was it worth everything he had to give up? He would be forsaking Delphinium, who was waiting for him in the afterlife. His parents, his siblings. He would turn away from everyone in the hopes of avoiding meeting Death for a third and final time.

Herpo had spent decades chasing after the idea of following Delphinium. Hours were spent by her grave contemplating the bliss of joining her, of seeing her again, of holding her. There was only one way to achieve that.

He had reached the familiar gravestone and took a long swig of Firewhiskey. He was so numb that he could no longer feel it burn on the way down nor warm his gut. That meant it was working at least.

As he studied the inscription, Herpo realized that somewhere along the line, something had changed. He wasn't the young man he had been back then, and the image he thought of most often when remembering Delphinium was not of her youth when she was vivacious and lively but of her laying in bed after years of fighting, only to lose in the end. The illness had all but ruined them financially, and she had spent so long suffering before finally succumbing.

No, he couldn't go through that. The idea terrified him more than anything, more than an undying life, more than living without his wife, more than shearing off a portion of his soul. He was no longer the powerful, ambitious wizard of his youth, but neither was he a drooling, old dolt. He refused to let Death take him. Not if there was another way.

"I'm sorry, my flower. Please forgive me," Herpo whispered as he ran his hand against the rough, weather-worn stone. "But something's come up. It seems I won't be joining you after all."

 **...oOo...**

Herpo took his time and worked through the due diligence to find his target. He was simply a town drunkard who fought too often and worked too little to be of any real use to anyone, and his family had long since given up on waiting for him to sober up. What was the harm?

Herpo lured him into the woods outside of town with the promise of alcohol. In a flash of green, he killed him, and then turned his wand to his soon-to-be horcrux, the common, leather hat off his head. He whispered the spell that Death had taught him, and then he was surrounded by hot, white light, and his body was on fire.

It was like his innards were ripping, a blazing, red knife tearing through his insides and hacking away pieces. Herpo couldn't breathe, gasping for air and finding nothing but waves of pain shriveling his lungs and pressing against his chest. Something in him was breaking, of that he was sure, and if he survived this ordeal, if he managed to make it through, what then?

His legs gave out, and the ground rushed up to greet him, cold dirt caking against his cheeks. Darkness descended upon him, and he knew everything would change.

 **...oOo...**

He was still alive, yes, but something was missing. Herpo knew it at first, but then he forgot to care. It was small to start with, the slightest bubble of glee when a child skinned their knee, the occasional cackle shed at others' misfortune. The human condition was fascinating, and Herpo felt both a part of it and removed from it, like a common observer studying ants under a magnifying glass.

Then the experiments started. The townsfolk didn't notice at first. It was innocent, really. It all began with a smile, something he seemed to have forgotten how to do. It was social etiquette to smile back, that much he knew, but when the elderly neighbor had smiled at him, Herpo had found himself unable to return the gesture. There wasn't a single reason in the world he could come up with to smile.

But it didn't stop there. He had forgotten what it felt to love. Every evening, he visited a familiar tombstone to read the inscription:

 _Delphinium_

 _Strong Roots_

 _Leave Behind_

 _Strong Seeds_

 _Always Remembered_

The words were supposed to mean something, he was sure of it, but they had become little more than letters conveniently arranged to form a message. There was no sentimentality there, no thought, no memories. He knew Delphinium somehow, as if he had heard it once in a dream that was lost to morning's light. Every evening, Herpo mourned for what he couldn't remember.

 **...oOo...**

He was broken. That was the only logical conclusion. Something was missing inside him that made him like the others, and Herpo coveted it. He sought it in silent footsteps and shady plans as he crept through the night, slipping between houses. They were happy! But how did they do it? He could smell it, like a sweet nectar, staining their auras, this intangible, unintelligible concept. He both hated it and loved it in equal measure.

If he couldn't have it naturally, then there was only one conclusion: he'd take it. Slipping through a window, Herpo made his way into the bedroom. He didn't know the woman's name and couldn't care less. He could smell the lovely aroma of her memories, and it almost made his mouth water at the idea. It was like a drug. No, better than a drug, because the effects lasted days, sometimes weeks.

Her chest rose in slow, rhythmic cycles as she breathed, likely locked in some fantasy concocted by an overactive imagination. What was it they called it? Oh yes, dreaming. Had he ever dreamed? Herpo couldn't recall. He closed the distance between them, stopping until their lips were inches apart, and he breathed her in.

It was intoxicating, the rush he felt, like his body was filled with a sudden warmth. It was the most amazing feeling, like floating on the clouds and drinking in the sunlight. Everything turned golden and silver at the same time, and his insides warmed as his skin cooled. They always tasted different, each life he drank, depending on the person. This one was cool and tangy with a sweet aftertaste. One of the nicer ones.

When he was finished, Herpo slipped back out the window he entered in, leaving no trace that he had ever been there, nothing that would cause anyone to suspect foul play.

The town woke every morning afflicted by the strangest malady. Otherwise normal, happy folks became mere shells of humans by the morning, as if all the life had been sucked out of them. News of it spread like wildfire across Europe, and Muggles and wizards alike lived in fear of catching the mysterious plague.

 **...oOo...**

On a lone island, somewhere in an ocean lost in time, Herpo prowled the shores waiting for the occasional shipwrecked human—Muggle or wizard, it mattered not—to wander onto his shore.

This was his punishment. He understood that much. Death had come for him a third time, despite his meddling attempt to prevent it, and stole him away to some island. He wasn't sure where and when it was, but Herpo didn't much care, either. He had long since forfeited his emotions. His only regret was that there was no happiness to be absorbed there, no others to feed off of.

The sun had long ago began to eat away at his parchment-thin skin, so he cloaked himself in a black robe. How many centuries had passed since then? The fabric itself had started to wear, clinging to what was left of his frame in wisps of cloth, dangling in his wake as he paced back and forth.

When would the next come? Not soon enough. Never soon enough. Once they set foot on his shore, they never left. They were the key to it all. They must be. If he could just find a way, he could harness their happiness, their joy, their warmth—all the things that made them human. Even if for a fleeting, magnificent moment, he could feel what it was like to live again.

His days were filled with nothing but rotting, withering, festering. Even though his body couldn't die, Herpo wasn't quite alive anymore, either. So he had turned to others to make him whole. One by one, they sacrificed the sliver of life they had to drive back death for just a moment longer. Just one more breath of life, one more gasp of happiness, one more kiss to feed his eternal life.

.

 _ _It was never meant to be this way. Where there is death, there can never be life._ _


End file.
